


Not Quite As Expected

by gingerwithahintofpsychopathy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Inhuman, Fluff, Gen, Khoshekh and kittens barely mentioned, blame the bloodstone circle, kind of?, not completely human at least, seriously so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerwithahintofpsychopathy/pseuds/gingerwithahintofpsychopathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh! I looked different last time, didn't I?” Cecil twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “I don't have a static natural form. Are you looking for a clock? I'd recommend avoiding the ones seeping blood or unidentifiable fluids.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite As Expected

Carlos begins to realise that Cecil Palmer is not normal quite soon after he comes to Night Vale.

 

The first time they meet, Cecil has white hair in a short, neat wave just touching his forehead, pale skin dotted with freckles, a sharp jawline and pointy nose, rimless glasses and swirling, purple irises that appear to be dotted with stars, or perhaps galaxies; his third eye shines a pure white from his forehead. He grins with bright white teeth and wears a red-pinstriped white shirt covered by a lilac knitted vest, and burgundy skinny jeans. His shoes are brown leather, pointed and lightly scuffed. He spends most of their time interacting blushing bright red and stutters twice as Carlos scans the microphone in the radio booth with his most recent radiation-detecting device. There are worrying results so Carlos advises Cecil to leave the station, along with the interns and any other staff, but they all smile simultaneously and chant in a language Carlos doesn't recognise instead. Carlos leaves rather quickly after that.

 ~

A few days later Carlos is in the corner store by his apartment searching hopelessly for chocolate of any kind – they never seem to have any; the aisle labelled as 'Chocolate and Other Confections' has nothing but strawberry laces and several faintly glowing grandfather clocks – when a familiar voice calls to him.

 “Carlos!”

 He turns, half excited and half apprehensive, but can't see Cecil at all. “Um, Cecil?”

 "Oh, sorry!” A man appears from around the corner of the aisle and waves shyly. He has smooth, dark skin, a few shades darker than Carlos' own, shoulder-length black curls, glasses with a thick white rim and a broad nose above full lips. He wears a black shirt, ripped blue jeans and dark purple Doc Martins with neon pink shoelaces. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his face to reveal a pure white, glowing third eye. “I saw you with my Eye but forgot it doesn't work both ways.”

 “ _Cecil?”_

 “Oh! I looked different last time, didn't I?” Cecil twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “I don't have a static natural form. Are you looking for a clock? I'd recommend avoiding the ones seeping blood or unidentifiable fluids.”

 “What do you mean you don't have a static natural form?” Carlos asks incredulously, scientific curiosity beginning to surface.

 “Well, I was conceived within a bloodstone circle against Secret Police regulations – which I am NOT CONDONING IN ANY WAY.” There's a shuffling, scritching noise from above them, which fades swiftly. Cecil nods crisply and continues. “It changed me somewhat. When I was young my father told me that I was born a purple cloud, sparking lightning at the midwife and doctors, before morphing through several alternate forms. He confided in me that he believes it was me that made my mother who she is today. I was, understandably, very flattered, although when I asked her opinion she signalled her disagreement with a vehement howl.” Cecil's face softens into a smile as he looks at Carlos, no longer reminiscing. “Whatever form I take, I am still the Cecil you are familiar with. Do not be alarmed if you see me and I am not as expected.”

 Carlos nods, fascinated. “Oh, okay. That's very interesting.”

 “Are you weirded out?You're totally weirded out, aren't you?”

 “No, definitely not! Actually, I've had an idea for an experiment, can you excuse me?”

 Cecil looks slightly startled. “Of course, Carlos.”

 ~

 Carlos pops into the station again roughly two weeks later to ask Cecil or the newest, living intern to ask viewers about Radon Canyon's flickering lights, finding Cecil on his break.

 “Hello, Carlos,” Cecil greets him, lazily waving a... tentacle?

 “Um, hi, Cecil...” Carlos tries to ignore Cecil's lilac skin, various tentacles and sharply pointed teeth (which are revealed in a friendly grin). He explains his enquiry and again leaves swiftly, unable to get past _tentacles_. _Tentacles??_

 ~

Their fourth meeting is outside the dog park in the late evening, although Carlos is struggling to trust even his trusty watch recently so is unwilling to specify a definite time.

 “Hello, Carlos,” Cecil says, suddenly beside him. Carlos thinks of Cecil's radio show and wonders if Cecil wants to put 'beautiful' or 'perfect' before Carlos' name when they speak.

 “Hello, Cecil,” he replies simply, staring into the darkness of the dog park. A hooded figure lurks in some shadows, not seeming particularly busy with anything. Carlos wonders what they do in their spare time.

 “What are you up to?” Cecil asks. Carlos turns to look at him, noting absently Cecil's lack of substance. If he squints, he can still see the lamppost across the street that should really be blocked from view by Cecil's body. Instead of a solid form there's something like a heat haze where Cecil presumably stands.

 “Wondering what the hooded figures do when we're not watching,” he replies thoughtfully. Cecil hums, considering.

 “We'll probably never know,” Cecil murmurs, watching the visible hooded figure. It turns, stares back (Carlos thinks) and slinks away out of sight with a faint hissing noise. A few moments later Cecil does the same, his third white eye going from his only recognisable feature in a swirl of translucent sparkles to completely invisible.

 “Goodbye,” Carlos says to the empty air.

 ~

 Cecil gives Carlos his personal number quite soon into their acquaintance, which Carlos does not call for a long time because he has nothing to really talk about. After a while, however, he makes an interesting and quite terrifying discovery about time in Night Vale, and wonders whether Cecil knows about it. Cecil seems very knowledgeable about the town, after all. The call goes well, although Cecil's reaction to the news is “Neat!” which is not quite what Carlos expected. Later in the day a man is outside Carlos' house; he leaves Cecil some voicemails, and once Cecil returns his calls (there was something wrong, Carlos is _sure_ of it) Carlos learns that apparently the invisible clock tower is there, just invisible, of course you can't see it Carlos! He asks Cecil out for coffee to talk more on the subject because if nobody has seen it how do they know it _exists_ , which Cecil readily agrees to.

 ~

Coffee goes well; Cecil is pure, glowing white but for a slight hint of pinkness on his cheeks. He appears to have no clothes or genitals (not that Carlos looks,of course), merely a continuous, smooth whiteness matching his third eye. He's not very helpful about the clocks, unfortunately, but they have a nice time and the coffee is remarkably decent considering that Carlos is pretty sure there's not actually any in his cup.

 ~

 Carlos begins to regularly listen to Cecil's radio show on Poetry Week. As a scientist he has special privileges, and isn't required to write poetry by law or legislation, but he enjoys the poems and Cecil's soothing voice. Over the next few weeks he learns about things like Cecil's odd and borderline disturbing time in Europe, the Whispering Forest (which he sends a first-level scientist to look at; he doesn't come back, so Carlos leaves it be) and Khoshekh and his kittens.

 ~

He investigates the talk of an aggressive, attacking city under the bowling alley a week or so after their coffee meeting – as time is most definitely still not working he really has no solid idea how long it's been – and as he declares that it is safe (the population is so _tiny_ , so _adorably tiny_ ) something strikes his leg and pierces the skin. He looks down in surprise to see blood soaking through the left leg of his pants, and horrified gasps from above accompany a volley of tiny projectiles from below. One sticks into his Achilles tendon and he falls, clutching his ankle, unprepared for the savagery. Something is stabbed forcefully into the dip above his collarbone and he vaguely hears someone cry “SOMEONE TELL CECIL!” over the tiny, high-pitched war cries surrounding him.

 It occurs to him suddenly that if he dies here he will a) never see Cecil again and b) never do science again. He then realises that never seeing Cecil again is upsetting him more than never doing science again, which briefly stops him defending himself from his tiny attackers in shock. Cecil has sneaked his shapeshifting, adorable, three-eyed way into Carlos' affections without Carlos even noticing, and now Carlos wishes that they were closer; that Carlos had done more than merely listen to Cecil on the radio; maybe that they had gone out for coffee again. He's bleeding quite profusely now and feeling faint from the blood loss, head light and woozy. A few moments later he passes out, still lying in the miniature city.

 ~

When Carlos awakens he is lying on a couch in the bowling alley. Someone has bandaged his tiny wounds and placed ointment on the burns from the tiny explosives. He sits up and sees the lifeless body of the Apache Tracker lying by the entrance to the city, surrounded by birthday party guests. He thanks someone dazedly for the help,unsure who they are in his state, and leaves. He needs to see Cecil.

 He leaves a message on Cecil's phone. _Cecil... hi. I, uh, I need to see you. Could you meet me in the Arby's parking lot? I need to see you. I already said that, didn't I? Sorry. Uh, see you soon?._ He hangs up before he embarrasses himself further and drives to the parking lot. Cecil arrives ten minutes or so later.

 He appears nervous and his eyes are red around the edges, as if he's been crying. His skin flickers from dark to pale to tan to grey to purple, along with his hair colour. “What is it?” Cecil asks. “What danger are we in? What mystery needs to be explored?”

Carlos shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “After everything that happened…I just wanted to see you.”

Cecil blushes and says “Oh?” in a shaky tone, his skin turning pink and warm-looking. His hair settles on a light brown streaked with white.

Carlos watches the sun as it sets ponderously. “I used to think it was setting at the wrong time,” he says quietly, “but then I realized that time doesn’t work in Night Vale, and that none of the clocks are real. Sometimes things seem so strange, or _malevolent_ , and then you find that, underneath, it was something else altogether, something pure, and innocent.’ He hopes that Cecil understands that this is Carlos accepting Night Vale for what it is, and accepting Cecil for who and what he is, and understanding that not everything can be explained and that not everything needs to be.

'I know what you mean,' Cecil replies, smiling and smoothing down an imaginary crease in his blue jeans. Carlos holds his breath a little and places a hand on Cecil's knee, tentative but hopeful. Cecil flickers into void for a millisecond before solidifying again, quick enough that Carlos' hand doesn't even move with the change. He leans his head lightly on Carlos' shoulder and they look up at the stars together. Carlos thinks about the past year; how he has changed because of Night Vale, because of Cecil, how his mind has been opened and his horizons expanded. The stars are beautiful but simultaneously vast and cold, reminding him of the universe's beauty at the same time as it reminds him of its hugeness, perhaps of his own smallness.

 

Carlos feels more peaceful than he ever has before; with Cecil, sitting on the trunk of his car, staring up at the stars over the quaint little town he has come to love.

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is basically this fic, that Cecil shifts forms all the time into as many different things as you could ever imagine without really caring, and that nobody in Night Vale really notices anymore. They all recognise him in whatever form because his third eye is always there as an identifier.


End file.
